


when I think about you

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(203): I think about him when I masturbate so I guess you could call it love</p>
            </blockquote>





	when I think about you

**Author's Note:**

> fuck that's a horrible title

Hal doesn't know when it started, just that for as long as he can remember, his sure-thing, go to spank bank material has been the fucking Batman. Even before he knew who Batman _was_ , before he ever got a glimpse of the man behind the cowl, Batman was the thing he could think of to get him going...and then coming. 

The easiest explanation was to blame it on adrenaline. Let it never be said that Hal Jordan wasn't a fucking adrenaline junkie from birth and given that every time he's around Bruce they end up nearly tearing each other's heads off, it adds up. It might not be going mach five in a brand new fighter jet, but it gets his blood pumping just the same.

Hilariously, Hal's never even thought about another dude like that before. Well okay, not on _purpose_ \-- tequila can do some interesting things to your sexuality. The funniest part is, he still doesn't really. It's not like he gets hot for Bruce when he's standing at the head of the table and telling him in great detail how many times he fucked up on their last mission. He doesn’t fantasize Bruce bending him over the table when he’s using every twenty dollar word in his vocabulary to tell Hal how stupid. He doesn't think about kissing him when they're inches away from each other about to go ten rounds because Bruce is too fucking arrogant and crass to even _live._ That would be messed up. 

At night, though? When he can't sleep and there's too much in his head and he just wants to rub one out so he can pass out for at least twelve hours? Hell yeah he thinks about it. He thinks about what it would be like if Bruce grabbed him by the throat when they were screaming at each other earlier. He wonders if he kisses like he fights, like he does fucking everything, all brutal and intense and kind of terrifying. 

When Hal first started out with his whole Batman jerk-off system it used to be just picturing Batman on his knees and shoving his cock down his throat. It's somewhat...evolved since then. He used to only go there when he needed to come hard and _soon_ , because he knew that's exactly what it would do it.

Now he takes his time. 

Tonight, for instance, he's been edging himself for what feels like hours. It's been at least fifty minutes going by the clock on the bed. His cock is rock solid hard and he's leaked so much precome everywhere that the room already stinks of sex. There's lube smeared all over his hands, his thighs, the sheets. Hal's had his fingers in his ass, playing with himself until his balls start to draw up and he feels like he's about to burst, then he pulls out and takes a few breaths until he thinks he can touch himself again. 

Tonight he's been thinking about Bruce's hands. Those giant, calloused and scarred hands, his thick fucking fingers working Hal open for hours. Hal wants to come on those fingers and nothing else, wants Bruce to keep them inside of him, keep fucking him with them until he gets hard _again._

He wants Bruce's cock filling him up, wants Bruce so deep he can taste him in the back of his throat. 

Hal whimpers into his pillow, drooling on it a little when he works a third finger in with the other two.

“Oh fuck _me_ ,” he moans, imagining it’s Bruce’s fingers in him, fucking him and stretching him open, getting him ready to take his cock. “God, Bruce. Yeah, baby.”

He starts thrusting his fingers harder, balances on his shoulder so he can get his other hand on his dick. Hal thinks he’s about done with this edging bullshit. He’s ready to _come_ and fuck, is he going to. He probably going to soak all the way through the mattress he’s going to come so hard and so much. 

Hal’s so lost in fucking himself and moaning shamelessly into his pillow that he doesn’t hear the window behind him being lifted or the rustle of the curtains, but when Bruce clears his throat behind him Hal goes rigid. Frozen.

He turns his head slowly, his face completely wrecked, his hair a mess, his fingers still in his _ass,_ and sees Batman standing there. 

“I take it this isn’t a good time,” Bruce says mildly and seriously if Hal had his ring on right now he’d probably take his fucking head off for real. 

“Fuck,” Hal says. “ _Off._ You motherfucking creeper. What the fuck do you expect, just crawling into someone’s fucking window? I can do whatever the fuck I want in my own fucking apartment and you can’t just --”

“Do you want some help,” Bruce says, still calm and measured, and Hal just stares at him as he slides his fingers out. 

“I know you think I’m useless,” Hal says. “But I’m actually pretty decent at getting myself off, thanks. Get the fuck _out._ ”

Bruce doesn’t go anywhere. 

Shocker of shocks.

“You said my name,” Bruce says a moment later. “I heard you.”

Hal tries to remember where he set his ring. Seriously, this is it. This is going to be the day he kills Batman 

“You were thinking about me,” Bruce says and then he’s pushing the cowl off his face and stepping into the little shafts of light being cast into the room by the full moon outside and goddamn he is so gorgeous it pisses Hal off. “While you were fucking yourself with your fingers.”

“Listen --”

“It sounded like you were enjoying it.”

“Yes,” Hal bites out. “Congratulations. I think about you when I get off. Tell your friends, pass it around, what _ever_ , just fucking _leave._ ”

“Is that what you want?” Bruce asks. “Would you rather lie here in your bed, contorting your body so you can pretend those are my fingers inside of you or --”

Hal watches, slack-mouthed, as Bruce unhooks his utility belt, then the chest armor, and drops them to the ground along with his cape. Jesus fuck that under armor suit is a piece of work. Hal can see every cut of muscle, every definition of his abs. It’s ridiculous. 

“Or would you rather me spread you out and work you open with my own fingers, Hal?” Bruce asks, still like he’s discussing the latest political polls. “I can leave you here like this if you wish.”

“I don’t need your fingers,” Hal says, to which Bruce nods.

“Alright then,” he says, moving to pick up his gear. “We won’t speak of this a--”

“I need your cock,” Hal finishes. “I’ve been fucking myself open forever. I’m loose. I’m good. I need you to _fuck_ me.”

“Oh,” Bruce says and the surprise in his tone sends a thrill through Hal’s spine. He doesn’t undress the rest of the way, just walks over to Hal’s bed and grabs the lube off the side table, a condom from a compartment on his utility belt. He pushes his leggings down and unhooks the protective jock, tossing it aside.

Hal takes the condom out of his hand and tears it open with his teeth, reaches down and gets his hand around Bruce’s cock, giving it a few strokes until he gets good and hard, Bruce’s breath coming out in harsh, ragged breaths as Hal’s hand works him, then Hal rolls the condom on. 

“Slick me up,” Bruce says and Hal shivers at the command. Normally he’d tell Bruce where he can fucking shove his orders, but right now he wants nothing more than to get Bruce’s dick wet for him. 

“Good,” Bruce says when Hal gets him good and slick. “Is like this okay?”

“Just get _in_ me,” Hal says and thinks, maybe, that he sees a hint of a smirk in the corner of Bruce’s mouth before Bruce pushes Hal’s thighs back and shoves his cock inside of him. 

Hal strangles on a moan, sucking down air as Bruce’s cock splits him open. Mother of fuck he’s huge and hard and Hal can feel every fucking vein on his cock, can feel the head of it stretching his insides until he’s buried all the way inside of him. He only stays that way for a moment though before gripping Hal’s hips tight and starting to move, sliding his dick almost all the way out before pushing it inside again. 

“Yeah,” Hal rattles out incoherently, grasping and groping at Bruce’s shoulders, for anything to grab onto. “Yeah, fuck yeah. Fuck me. Fuck me harder than that, c’mon.”

Bruce just grunts and lifts Hal’s hips a little higher, changing the angle and Hal makes a literal sobbing noise when Bruce starts to really fuck him, his cock ramming into the deepest part of him with every thrust. Bruce sounds like he does when they’ve been training for hours at the watchtower, breathing like he’s just went ten rounds with Clark on the mats. He grunts every time he bottoms out inside of Hal, squeezing Hal’s hips so hard he knows he’s going to have finger length bruises on his hips come morning and god, if that that doesn’t make him even fucking harder. 

They fuck like it’s the last time they’re ever going to do it and like it’s the first time they ever have, desperate and wild, skin slapping against skin, making the filthiest of noises that Hal wants to commit to memory. Hal rakes his nails down Bruce’s back, thinks about the angry red streaks Bruce will probably have on his back for the neck few days, if anyone at the watchtower will see them when he’s undressing.

“Hal,” Bruce chokes out when Hal grabs his face, drags his nails down Bruce’s jaw. “Are you there?”

“Almost,” Hal says, biting back a scream when Bruce reaches down and gets his hand on his dick, starts jerking him off in time with his thrusts. 

“I’m going to come,” Bruce says, his voice cracking with that on-the-edge desperation and Hal just fucking comes _undone_. Bruce has to reach down and cover his mouth with his other hand when Hal screams out his name, lets go of Hal’s dick and bends Hal in half and just _pounds_ into him, fucks the rest of the come out of Hal then fucking _growls_ out Hal’s name and _shakes_ , gripping Hal’s hips so tight it actually brings tears to Hal’s eyes as he comes inside of him. 

Hal rubs Bruce’s back as Bruce jerks with each aftershock, is kind of amazed at how long his dick keeps twitching inside of him, spurting more and more come until he goes completely still and Hal realizes Bruce’s dead weight might actually kill him. 

“Okay,” he says. “Off, Spooky. I don’t want to die like this.”

Bruce makes some kind of _hn_ noise and manages to roll to the side, his leggings bunched up around his knees. 

“Right,” Hal says. “Well, I’m passing out now because jesus _fuck._ ”

All he gets in response to that is a noncommittal grunt from the side of the bed Bruce is on. 

“Kay,” Hal says, pulling the covers up. “Night. Thanks for the fuck and all. I’m sure you’ll sneak out like a creeper in the middle of the night, so just close the window back. It’s fucking December.”

“Go to sleep,” Bruce grunts and not ten seconds later, Hal does. 

 

: : :

In the morning Hal wakes up alone, true to fashion, but at least Bruce remembered to close the window. Possibly he’s not such an asshole after all. 

That’s when Hal rolls over and finds a note next to his bed:

_You really should lock your windows at night. Anyone could break in. Don’t be so careless._

Or maybe not.


End file.
